A withering flower at devil's mercy

Northern Main Capital – Avarga

A month and a fortnight had passed, yet the war refused to end. The sky over Avarga was choked with black smoke, the air thick with the stench of rotting corpses and gunpowder. The deafening roar of cannon fire had become as constant as the wind, a relentless symphony of destruction. Those who had failed to flee in time—civilians, soldiers, and the wounded left behind—had long since learned that mercy was a luxury no longer afforded in this war.

Erebus led from the front, pressing forward without hesitation. Ji Chen had fallen in less than a month, reduced to little more than a graveyard of shattered bodies and burnt-out ruins. His forces had slaughtered indiscriminately—humans, Amanécerians, and demons alike—leaving only the elderly, women, and children alive. Even that was not an act of kindness; it was strategy.

And it worked. The women, in their grief and desperation, had begun to take up arms, rallying under his banner. The tide of battle shifted in his favor, and his enemies bled for it.

"Commander!"

Two figures approached through the filth and blood-slicked mud—Lu Yin and Zeraf. Both bore the scars of battle, but neither hesitated. Lu Yin had once been a soldier of the republic, abandoned and left to rot. Now, he served Erebus with a loyalty born not of honor, but of necessity. Zeraf, a former soldier of Wahrheit, had once fled the battlefield in cowardice. Now, his towering, battle-worn figure—his thick brown hair matted with dried blood, his single black eye cold with purpose—was proof of how war reshaped men.

"Ögedei's forces have surrendered. They seek an alliance," Lu Yin reported, voice devoid of emotion.

Erebus set down his charcoal pen, his eyes unreadable. He adjusted his peaked cap, the weight of command heavier than ever.

"How many?"

"Sixty dead. Half remain."

Erebus exhaled slowly, stepping out of the trench, his boots sinking into the mud that had been soaked with the blood of the fallen. In the distance, a tattered white flag was raised.

Lifting his binoculars, he scanned the battlefield. The corpses of the dead lay in grotesque positions, their bodies torn apart by gunfire and shrapnel. Some still twitched, caught between life and death. The lucky ones had died instantly. The unlucky ones would become food for the crows before nightfall.

"Hold fire," Erebus ordered. "Keep the men on edge. Take a full headcount—six o'clock, eastward."

His orders were carried out without question. He checked his flintlock pistol, ensuring it was loaded, then secured his sword—a weapon that still felt foreign in his grip, compared to the axe he had once wielded.

His army had swelled beyond his expectations, but with numbers came problems. Men were harder to control. Some thirsted for blood more than victory. Some sought revenge more than reason. And in war, discipline was the only thing that kept an army from turning into a pack of feral beasts.

A squad moved ahead to process the surrendered forces, their weapons already confiscated.

"They always try something," Zeraf muttered, flexing his clawed fingers. "Cowards fight dirty."

Erebus had seen too many betrayals to expect anything different.

The gunfire ceased under his command, and the battlefield fell into an eerie stillness. Smoke curled from the burning wreckage of buildings. The scent of charred flesh and gunpowder was suffocating, clinging to the lungs like poison. Blood had turned the mud into something thick and black, congealing in the trenches where bodies had piled up.

The prisoners knelt in the dirt, stripped of their weapons. Their faces were pale, their eyes darting between Erebus and his men. Some trembled. Others looked resigned. All knew what awaited them.

Erebus turned to Lu Yin. The former soldier gave a curt nod. There were no hidden reinforcements. No last-minute ambush.

Lu Yin reached down and grabbed the closest man by the collar, hauling him to his feet. The soldier, a lieutenant judging by his insignia, gasped as he was shoved forward. He coughed, choking on the filth and blood in his throat.

Erebus crouched before him, his presence looming, his expression cold.

"Ögedei," he said, his voice measured, deliberate. "Where is your general?"

For a moment, the lieutenant was silent. Then, he laughed—a raw, ugly sound that carried no humor. The men around them tensed, hands shifting toward weapons, but Erebus did not move.

"Ögedei?" The man spat blood onto the ground. "He's in the hells."

Zeraf's clawed hand lashed out, striking the man across the face. His head snapped to the side, a fresh wound blooming on his cheek.

"Wait," Erebus murmured, raising a hand.

The lieutenant coughed, struggling to right himself. His lips curled into a smirk, a trace of madness in his bloodshot eyes.

"You'll be joining him soon," he rasped. "Do you really think we surrendered to a butcher like you for nothing?"

Lu Yin moved before the words had fully left the man's mouth. His hands shot forward, yanking back the soldier's coat. A glint of metal. A hidden bomb.

The tension in the air turned razor-sharp.

Erebus didn't flinch. He had seen this before. Men with nothing left fought in desperation, seeking to drag their enemies into the grave with them. It was pathetic.

He exhaled through his nose, as if bored.

"Take them to the interrogation center," he ordered. His tone was devoid of mercy. "Break them. Find out what they know. If they refuse to talk…"

He turned away, already walking toward the next battle.

"Feed them to the war wolves."

No one hesitated. The lieutenant's smirk faltered for the first time.

Behind him, the soldiers dragged the prisoners away. Their screams would be lost in the ruins of Avarga, another note in the symphony of war.

And Erebus? He simply kept walking. The battle wasn't over yet.

It never was. With Avarga fallen in his hands, he found the demon army recoil back to Achaemenid. Soon Zhonguo Republic was under his command. A huge step forward to search for his beloved. But fear of her being dead still worried him.